


While You Were Sleeping

by mystiri1



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Community: one_character, Gen, Wars, Wutai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:58:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystiri1/pseuds/mystiri1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't think the General had slept in a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While You Were Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: 06. Do Not Disturb

It had been a long week, Zack thought, arching his back to get the kinks out. No, it had been a long month, and a long year before that. His muscles ached, and he was dying to get back to his leaky tent and the lumpy, uncomfortable cot that was trying to pass itself off as a surface suitable for sleeping on. But first he had to report.

He’d been in and out of camp for three days, now, slogging through thick jungle in search of Wutaian guerrillas. It was the rainy season, and the ground was little more than mud, sometimes so soupy that he wasn’t sure there was anything solid beneath it. When it wasn’t raining was worse, as the humidity turned the air thick and unbreathable. He’d barely caught anything but catnaps between his patrols, but the area was a favourite for the enemy fighters, with numerous hiding places suitable for ambush; no sooner would he settle down than a new message would come in of a patrol caught by surprise, and he’d be sent out to deal with it again.

Still, he mused as he headed towards another tent, no different from any of the others in its appearance, it had to be nothing compared to what the General was feeling. He didn’t think the General had slept in a week. Any time he reported back to camp, he’d find the man pouring over his maps, pages of troop numbers stacked beside them the wide table, a handful of officers and messengers running back and forth in response to his words while he planned their next offensive. Or simply tried to recover something from the previous one.

For the worst clashes, Sephiroth had been called out, too. On at least three occasions, Zack had turned at the flare of a powerful spell – Bolt3 seemed to be what he was favouring at the moment – to see the General standing there, long silver hair slick with moisture clinging to skin and leather, mud splattering his boots and the hem of his coat. His famous sword, Masamune, was substituted with another blade, shorter and more suitable for the close quarters and tangled trees in which they were fighting.

Zack had asked, as he knew Sephiroth rarely used anything but his preferred weapon, and the General had admitted that while the Masamune would probably cut straight through any tree in its path, he had no desire to risk unnecessary damage to the blade. This had resulted in some joking over being so attached to his ‘big sword’: the General had simply given him a pained look and informed him that Zack had no grounds for teasing, when his own blade was notorious being oversized, and was he compensating for something?

That had been two days ago, and there had been little banter since. Even Zack would be hard pressed to find something to laugh about now. While there was little doubt that ShinRa had the superior forces and weapons – SOLDIER included – they were fighting an unconventional war in unfamiliar territory, where even the climate seemed hostile. And their enemies simply didn’t fight unless they thought there was a clear advantage to them; Zack was sure some patrols had walked right past hidden guerrillas, never knowing they were there, because they had better numbers. Sending out smaller patrols was more dangerous, but it was the only way to flush them from hiding.

Zack was glad he wasn’t the one who had to make decisions like that.

Instead, that was Sephiroth’s job, and he came to a halt outside the tent that was currently doubling as the general’s quarters and command post. There weren’t any voices coming from inside, hopefully he’d be able to make his report quickly and get straight to bed.

“Hey,” he said as he pulled back the flap of the tent, then stopped dead.

There was nobody else in the tent, which in itself was a small miracle. Other than its original occupant, that was. Sephiroth had a cot in the corner, probably as uncomfortable as Zack’s own, but he hadn’t made it that far. Instead, his head rested on folded arms, silver hair spreading across the maps.

He took a few cautious steps forward, deliberately trying not to be quiet. Sneaking up on the General was a bad idea, and he had no wish to find himself dead. But Sephiroth didn’t stir, and as he got closer, Zack could see the faintest of dark marks under his eyes.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen Sephiroth look noticeably tired before.

Asleep, he didn’t look like anybody who should be called ‘General’. When he was awake, those uncanny green eyes of his could stare anyone into submission, and each movement transmitted the power and grace that characterised his fighting style. Asleep, you could see that his features were more delicate and fine-boned than most men, the skin pale and unmarked despite his vocation. He looked more like someone who should be posing for a magazine than fighting a war. Asleep, Sephiroth looked both beautiful and breakable. And the sheer force of his personality kept anyone from noticing it while he was awake.

He thought a minute, and came to a decision.

Stepping back outside the tent, he grabbed the nearest unoccupied trooper he found. “You. Are you doing anything?”

“N-no, sir,” the trooper stammered, a bit nervous to find himself on the receiving end of a SOLDIER’s attention. “I’m supposed to be going off duty now.”

“Not anymore,” Zack said, and squashed any sympathy for the response those words bought about.

“Sir?”

“You’re going to stand guard, right here, and stop anyone from disturbing the general. If they say it’s important, you send them to me, and I’ll decide if they’re right. But nobody is to go in there until either myself or the general tell you otherwise.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Good. My tent’s right over there.” He pointed it out, and then headed for it, tossing a reminder over his shoulder. “Remember, don’t let anyone in.” He got an anxious salute in return.

He didn’t bother taking any of his mud-splattered clothes off, as it would just waste precious sleeping time. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before the first of the interruptions began.


End file.
